


Weep and Call It Singing

by obnoxious_arsehole



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dad!Tony, Daddy Issues, Depression, Family Death, His best isn't that great, Hurt Peter Parker, I'll add more tags later as it goes along, Mental Health Issues, Other, POV Peter Parker, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Has Issues, Peter Needs a Hug, Screw Infinity Wars, She's the real hero of the story though, Slow Build, Somewhat Graphic Violence, Tags May Change, Teen Angst, The Avengers can be dicks, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony is Doing His Best, adoption fic, aunt may dies so fast, but they get better at it, hurt!Peter, hurt!fic, it made me sad, pre-Infinity Wars, shit summary, so disregard the whole movie, they both deserve better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 05:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14928254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obnoxious_arsehole/pseuds/obnoxious_arsehole
Summary: After a damaging night as Spider-Man, Peter wakes up bruised and broken in more ways than one:  Aunt May is dead, and it is all his fault. He prepares for the worst, fully expecting to become another nameless child in foster care, forced to leave everything he cares about behind.Unless...Tony Stark is not a kind man, nor is he an entirely good man, but he is all Peter has left, the only chance he has to keep what little remains of his old life. They must learn to live with their decisions, but it's not as easy as it seems. Can they put aside their differences and become family? Especially as Peter begins to see that it's what he wants deep down?





	Weep and Call It Singing

**Author's Note:**

> Elliot here, I own nothing but the story itself, have a good time.  
> For updates, follow my brand spanking new tumblr at obnoxious-elliot

Mr. Stark was going to kill him.   
  
He was so dead —  if he ever got out of this situation alive, that is. He was supposed to be lying low after the Vulture fiasco, not going after the guys with the big guns. Yet here he was, clinging to the side of a high jacked subway car heading god knows where. He had no clue how he was going to explain any of this.  
  
He was doing so good with Mr. Stark, too. Peter felt as though he was being taken a lot more seriously, and sometimes Mr. Stark would let him help work on his own suit when it needed repairs. He never yelled at him like he did after the incident at Staten Island, but he might after he finds out what Peter has been up to.  
  
It’s not like Peter went out of his way to find trouble, it had the tendency to find him. He’d heard about fishy things going on in the old subway tunnels via newspapers and news reports, and he hadn’t expected anything to come from it. But then he heard about the stolen subway cars and the amount of collateral damage caused by the guys behind this whole operation, and that's when Peter felt he at least had to do a little digging.

He had spent weeks getting little to no information out of people he’d managed to string up near the older parts of the city. What had seemed to be the general consensus was that _something_ was going to happen, somebody was stirring up trouble, but no one knew when or how, just that they had guns and shouldn’t be messed with. When he had given Happy the heads up, all he had gotten in return was an ominous phone call from Mr. Stark to keep his nose clean and stick it elsewhere.  
  
Given the fact that he was fifteen and curious by nature, he wasn’t surprised when he decided to do the opposite.  
  
What he didn’t expect was for a large group of guys to open fire in a subway station close to his apartment right after school had let out. Every whisper he had heard in the last few weeks pointed right to this, and he was only lucky enough to have even thought about throwing his suit underneath his clothes after P.E. that day. And so, he had rushed into a random alley, pulled on his mask, and made a beeline towards the gunfire and didn’t even take a second to come up with some sort of plan. All that was running through his mind at the time was that there were people down there and that he had to do his best to keep as many people as he could from dying. It wasn’t long after he had shown up that he’d managed to get them on the run and away from civilians, but being on the outside of a speeding subway getting shot at was not how he thought he’d spend his Friday night.   
  
“Karen, how can I get inside?” Peter could barely hear his own voice over the rushing wind and if it weren’t for his ability to stick to surfaces, he’d have been battered against the walls of the tunnel and lying on the tracks somewhere with a list of broken bones. Peter could barely see anything at the speed they were going, much less see a way inside.  
  
“There seems to an emergency exit hatch embedded in the roof of this car, 11 o’clock. No one seems to have made any efforts to barricade it, so I highly doubt they’ve noticed it.”  
  
Perfect. Cool. That would work.   
  
He quickly made his way to the hatch, being extra careful not to knock his head clean off on the way. Within seconds, he was inside the car and quickly making his way to the front of the train. It would be much easier fighting back now that he didn’t have to dodge bullets _and_  hang onto the train. He quickly opened the door to the next car, being careful not to make himself obvious. That plan went up in flames once he peered through the small window on the door, seeing the new car he was about to enter had what looked like to be several armed men.

He gave himself a second, feeling the sweat trickle down his back before taking action. He threw the door open and jumped to the ceiling, the noise of the door slamming open making the men very aware of his presence in the train car. Peter did his best to avoid getting hit by stray bullets as he crawled on the walls and ceilings, all the while shooting out webs to yank the assault rifles out of their hands.  
  
“Why a train? Why couldn’t you guys just steal a few cars or a semi-truck like normal criminals? Do you know how many times I almost fell off this thing?” He swung himself down and used both of his feet to kick off one of the men, who went sprawling on the floor cursing in a language Peter didn’t understand. Now that their guns were stuck to the ceiling via his webs, it was far easier to fight them off.   
  
“I’ll take it you guys aren’t happy to see me, huh?” Peter rattled on as he settled back on his own two feet.  
  
Three came at him instantly, one brandishing a knife, and Peter did his best to duck and dodge every throw and jab. However, these guys clearly had some training, as they managed to land several harsh blows that he was sure had cracked a few of his ribs. He quickly found himself on the defensive without making progress in taking any of them down. In a moment of genius or stupidity, he let the thug with the knife charge at him, allowing him to get close enough before side-stepping just out of range. He quickly grabbed the outstretched arm and spun the both of them around once, using the momentum to toss said thug at the other two and causing them to pile up in a groaning heap.  
  
He’d just managed to web them up before the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Peter whipped his head around only to have something rock hard slam down on his head.  
  
If he weren’t Spider-Man, that hit would have knocked him out cold, or possibly killed him on the spot. Instead, it had his head spinning for a second, blood soaking the front of his mask and it had him blinking furiously to try to keep it from getting in his eyes. He didn’t feel any pain, which he assumed was because of the adrenaline coursing through him, but he sure was going to feel it later. Aunt May was going to have his hide when she saw his head was split, and the thought made him frown deeply behind the mask. He quickly shook his head, remembering that he was in the middle of a fight of all things, and he can’t be wasting any time worrying about anything besides the present.  
  
The man who’d hit him was charging at him again, a crowbar clutched in hand. Peter shot a strand of webbing straight into the man’s face before running forward and grabbing a stationary pole in the middle of the aisle, spinning himself around on it. The man tried clawing at his face, only to have his hands stick, and he roared something unintelligible.   
  
“You ever heard of karma, buddy?” Peter called out, before yanking hard on the webbing, sending the larger man flying forward until his face crashed against the pole. Peter didn’t bother checking if he was knocked out, opting to simply web up the still form. The sound of thundering feet was the only warning he got before he pivoted 180° degrees and slammed his fist into another man’s face, feeling bone shatter against his knuckles. Blood burst forth, and had he not been wearing a mask, he would have been sprayed across the face with the stuff. He quickly shot webbing onto a leg and pulled once more, making the attacker fall onto his back as he howled in pain. Peter pulled harder, using the man’s weight to launch him forward while simultaneously sending the same man back towards the pole he’d just stuck a man to and heard a clang as he hit the pole and became trapped.  
  
Two more men stood in his way from entering the remaining car, and when Peter landed on his feet again, they came at him at full speed.  
  
“Wait, STOP!” He cried out, hands held out placating in front of him. Incredibly, they did.   
  
He took a harder look at them and saw they looked young enough to be his age. What the hell were they doing here? Peter knew he was being a little hypocritical, but he was stronger, faster than kids his age. These two didn’t have any powers, they didn’t have any weapons, and even though they were mixed up in whatever this was, he wasn’t going to feel good about fighting either of them.  
  
“You guys don’t have to do this, you know. You guys go to school right?” His question was met with silence. “Is this like, a hobby or something? Why don’t you guys just stay at home and play video games like normal people?” The two guys exchanged a nervous look, and before they could give him an answer or make the decision to fight him, Peter had them toppled over on the ground, stuck fast to one another.  
  
Now that everyone was more or less neutralized, Peter let himself sag tiredly. If he could guess, he’d been trying to get these guys under control for the last two hours, the first hour trying to get them to not shoot at any more civilians while cutting down a few of their numbers. If he remembered correctly, there were at least 10 men back at the subway station waiting to be picked up by authorities. He tried not to think about the people he had seen lying prone on the ground, tried not to think about the blood he’d seen splattered on the tiled floors. Peter remembers seeing people slipping on the floor, shoes slick with it as they trampled over one another as they screamed to get above ground. He tried to suppress his anger and panic towards the blood on his fists that wasn’t his own and the sharp sting of the wounds inflicted on him.

Peter blinked hard, trying to keep the blood—  _tears?_ — from blurring his vision.  He had to get his shit together.  _You can't stop a runaway train if you’re having a panic attack, Parker._  He breathed deeply, reminding himself that the people that were hurt were already getting help... He had gotten to the station as fast as he could. He had done his best, he knows he did.   
  
So why were his hands still shaking?   
  
“Peter, you need to breathe. Your carbon dioxide levels are decreasing and your heart rate is —”  
  
“Got it, thank you, Karen,” he interrupted, the AI’s pleasant voice jarring him out of his thoughts and back to the present. “Okay, um, so how do I stop this thing?”  
  
“In the conductors' car, there should be a labeled lever that directly effects the disc brake. That would be the safest option, however, there are the emergency brakes that you may attempt to use.”   
  
“Wow, why didn’t I think of that?” Peter walked up the front of the car and didn’t hesitate to grab the red lever and pull it down, only for it to do nothing. He flipped it back and forth a few times before letting out an exasperated breath.  
  
“So much for that..”   
  
“It seems they have taken the steps to ensure the emergency brakes did not function.”  
  
“Yeah, I can see that. Looks like we have a bone or two to pick with the man up front, huh?” Peter didn’t wait for a response and instead rushed forward, carefully opening the door that led to the other car. He stood for a moment, in the little space between the car in front of him and the car he’d just left, and took a deep breath to calm his nerves. His spidey sense was starting to go off like crazy, especially since he couldn’t see inside the car. Whatever was behind those last doors couldn’t be good.   
  
“Please be empty,” Peter muses out loud, but knowing his luck, he didn’t expect things to be that easy. With that final thought, he grabbed the handle and forced the door open with his strength.  
  
Only to be reminded that sometimes, powers or no powers, he just wasn’t fast enough.

  
He felt bullets graze his sides, and he was mildly aware that a particular shot sent him reeling back. Peter's back dug into the door behind him, the door rattling loudly. He threw himself down on all fours to avoid the gunfire, shooting his webs towards the front of the subway car. Trusting that they would stick to something, he used the leverage he now had to slide forward low to the ground, using his feet to effectively topple the shooter in the car.   
  
Peter grabbed hold of a sprawled arm, and in one quick movement, he was on his knees giving the elbow joint a swift, but effective punch. It did the trick, and the gun fell from the man’s hands. With a cry of pain, the goon twisted his body around and drove his right elbow into Peter’s ribs. The hit sent a wave of hot pain throughout his entire body, and Peter found himself on the ground gasping for air, hands clutching at his battered ribs. The pain was excruciating, and that moment of weakness was all it took for the fight to go awry.  
  
The man didn’t hesitate to send his fists flying into Peter’s face, causing the previous wound to tear open further, blood smearing across the inside of his mask and making it stick to his flesh. Peter saw stars and his ears rang painfully as the man pummeled him mercilessly, and the seconds ticked by slowly, stretching out to feel like years.   
  
It should not hurt this much. Why did it hurt so bad? This man was so unbelievably strong that Peter couldn’t even get an arm up to defend himself before a fist slammed into him hard enough to make him forget what year it was. His throat burned, and he could hear Karen calling his name. He couldn’t breathe because the thug decided that sitting on his chest would pin him down better, and he could hear something in the room shrieking so awfully it sent chills down his spine.

It took him a punch to the throat to discover he was the one making that sound.   
  
Abruptly, one large hand wrapped around his head and slammed it into the ground with a sickening crack that echoed in his ears.   
  
Karen is yelling at him now, but Peter couldn’t do anything at the moment besides feel the pulsating pain that thrummed throughout his entire body. Just as he figured it could get worse, the man stood and promptly stomped down on his chest, hard.

Peter could taste blood in his mouth, and his vision whitened out for a split-second. It was long enough for the man to reclaim his weapon and put a firm hand down on his bruised throat, and when Peter’s vision came back into focus, he was staring down its steel barrel. He felt his eyes widen, and it hit him at that moment that just because he was Spider-Man, it didn’t mean he was invincible.

He was very much human, and he was about to die.  
  
“ Спокойной ночи, грязный маленький паук,” the man spat out, spittle flying at the sheer rage put behind the words, and Peter had never felt this helpless and terrified since the day Ben had been shot down in front of him.  
  
_Click._  
  
Peter let out a ragged sob, unable to swallow it down in the heat of the moment, and clamped down tightly at the hand at his throat before bringing his other hand around and spraying his attacker’s face full of his webs. He clung to the webbing and deftly wrapped it around the man’s neck, using all the strength he could muster to wrench the man forward.  
  
There was a final crack, and the man became still, half slumped over Peter’s body.   
  
For a full minute, Peter lay under him, his heart pounding, too afraid to move. He was in agony just laying there, and he knew it was only going to get worse. He had to get up. He had to stop this train.  
  
I won’t be able to get out of here. I’m not healing fast enough and _everything hurts_ **** _. It hurts to breathe, it hurts to think. I should have just gone home, I should have gone home straight to May and none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t be here all alone with no one to help me._  
  
No. He couldn’t think like that. If he hadn’t come, these men would have hurt so many more people. It was better this way. He could get through this. It would all be okay if he could just stop this train.  
  
“Peter, you are going into shock. You must remain awake and pull the brakes. You are currently experiencing a Class 3 hemorrhage, I am afraid I will have no choice but to inform…”  
  
Karen’s voice faded into a gentle hum, but the message was clear. He had to finish this. He wasn’t done yet. Slowly, he rolled the man off of him, greedily sucking air into his burning lungs once he did so.

He sat up and immediately gagged on blood, his airway full of the sickly copper substance. Peter’s hands flew up to his throat as he did his best to stumble to his feet, only managing to get to all fours. He felt like he was drowning, his chest stuttered as if trying to expand but simply refused to. He struggled to lift the edges of his mask, lifting it only so he could vomit, not wanting bile to mix with the tears and blood soaking it.  
  
As he heaved his pain only grew, and it was only then that he looked down at himself. Seeing the blood soaking the front of his suit near his stomach, his mind filled in the blanks and reminded him that he had been shot at, and by no one’s fault but his own, one shot hadn’t missed.  
  
Peter only hung his head as the sight of his torn flesh made him dry heave, the idea of dying becoming more concrete in his mind by the second.   
  
Peter wanted to go home, he wanted to go home to Aunt May and cry until his heart burst, he wanted for her to tell him that everything was going to be okay because he felt as though nothing could fix this mess. Screw the train, screw the everybody on it. He just wanted to stop hurting.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he was better than this, he shouldn’t have been overpowered so easily by one man and reduced to this bloody mess. He wasn’t careful enough, he wasn’t as good as he thought himself to be. He should have listened to Mr. Stark, but he never listened to him, he was an ungrateful brat. He was just an awful, dumb kid crying because someone put him in his place. Why did he ever think he could be more?  
  
He never wanted to be that helpless kid crying under a demolished building again, he never wanted to relive that crushing fear he felt at being left to die in the middle of nowhere, yet here he was, choking on his own blood at fifteen years old all because he wanted to play hero.

How was somebody going to explain to May that her only family had died because he couldn’t live a normal life?

Suddenly, an image of his aunt formed in his head. May sitting at the dining room table, head in her hands as her phone dialed his on speaker, only to go straight to his voicemail, her shoulder’s shaking with sobs. In his mind’s eye, he saw her calling him over and over, her cries only getting louder and more miserable every time his voicemail played all the way through, the way he had seen her do with Uncle Ben’s number for weeks until they cut the line.

Was that the price of saving other people’s lives? Of being Spider-Man?   
  
Was his aunt strong enough to go through that again? What would happen to her? To Ned?

What would happen to Mr. Stark? 

**_“If you die, I feel like that’s on me.”_ ** **_  
_****_  
_** Peter shook his head furiously, not caring that it only made his head pound and his vision swim. He forced himself up onto trembling legs and towards the controls, using his hands to hold himself up over them. Remnants of bile dribbled down his chin as he breathed wetly, trying to get his eyes to focus on the swimming labels.

He wasn’t going to die, he wasn’t going to give up just because he hurt or because the smell of blood was making him sick. He could stop this train  _and_ make it back home to Aunt May. He was going to fix this mess he had gotten himself into and Mr. Stark was going to wake up with a ten-minute long voicemail of him bragging about how he took down the bad guys all by himself.  
  
_Come on, Spider-Man. Stop the train. You can do it, Peter. Just stop the train._

“Peter, stop the train. The brakes are located on your right, the one encased in plexiglass —”  
  
Without hesitation, he drove a fist through the glass, not flinching when it scraped up his hand and slammed down on the lever. An awful screeching graced his ears and everything in the car was thrown forward. The unconscious man slammed into the wall, and Peter would have gone through the giant windshield had he not had his ability to stick to surfaces. Still, his body crashed fully into the controls, aggravating his wounds to the point of nearly blacking out, but he did not allow his hand to let go of the lever.   
  
_Shit shit shit shit shit._

He grits his teeth, praying that the train car wouldn’t come off the rails and crush everyone inside the tunnel walls. Sparks flew onto the track as the train slowly came to a halt, and Peter shut his eyes to avoid being temporarily blinded. The lights inside the train had flickered off, and everything shuddered violently. The train itself felt ready to fall apart, the lever in his hand threatened to flip back, but he only pushed it back down, unknowingly embedding it into the rest of the metal with his strength.

The train slowly came to a shuddering halt, and although the screeching had finally gone, he could hear the sound echoing off into the tunnels in both directions, and just like that, it was all over.  
  
Peter lay sprawled over the controls, his breathing labored and ragged. He lifted his head and opened his eyes just enough to see that the train was, in fact, no longer moving. He let out a pained sigh before letting his head rest against the controls, slowly letting turning his body around. He lowered himself to the floor, a hand uselessly pressed against the wound in his abdomen. The man beside him showed no signs of getting up soon, and Peter allowed himself to sit for a while and work through his agony.

Just a minute and he would make sure the guys in the other car weren’t tossed around too bad. Another few moments and he would get out of here before the cops caught up with them. He just needed to catch his breath. He would do all of that and more once he stopped being so dizzy, so tired. Karen was now nothing but a buzzing background noise in his ears and he almost ripped off his mask just so that he could have a few moments of silence.  
  
_Good job, Spider-Man. What a hero you turned out to be._

In the back of his mind, Peter knew he needed to get up  _now_ , but his body felt as though it were made of lead. His spidey sense was going off, but even that too was slowly being replaced by his sluggish thoughts. He still hurt everywhere, and he was sure one of his eyes was now swollen shut, but he still couldn’t find it in him to get up, to get out of there. He just wanted to sit for a minute, Aunt May would be home waiting for him whether he was to get there now or in another hour. She wouldn’t mind if he took a second to rest.  
  
**_Aunt May shook him softly and he turned his bleary eyes towards her. Her eyes were soft and so full of love that he wondered if this is what it felt like to have a mother. She smiled softly and offered her hand to him. She was so warm that he could wrap himself up in her and never feel the New York winter ever again. She let out a soft laugh that reached her eyes at his reluctance to move._**

 **_“Peter, I think it’s time for bed now.”_ ** **_  
_****_  
_**He tried to jerk his eyes open and failed. He had a bad feeling about staying here, yet his exhaustion was overpowering, suffocating, all-encompassing.  
  
**_“Come on, sweetie.”_ ** **_  
_****_  
_****_He took her hand and let her steer him towards his bedroom, let her pull back the comforter and tuck him in. Her hands came forward after settling him in, brushing the hair out of his face. She kissed him sweetly on the forehead, her hair falling down like auburn curtains on either side of his head. She rested her forehead against his, the bedside lamp highlighting her beauty, and he wondered how such a beautiful woman had gotten stuck looking after him. How unfair and cruel life could be._ ** **_  
_****_  
_****_“You know I love you, right baby?”_ ** **_  
_****_  
_**Tears pricked his eyes. He wanted to go home and see her so badly, but he was so tired. If he slept he would feel so much better, maybe he wouldn’t feel so cold.  
  
_**He nodded, unable to speak with sleep clouding his mind. He didn’t even feel like asking her to read out a chapter from one of his books. He just wanted his auntie to stay with him, wanted her to hold his hand while he slept so that the bad dreams couldn’t get him**._

**_“I love you now, and I will still love you when you wake. You just need to do one thing for me, Peter.”_ **

Her voice warmed him to his core, the aching cold enveloping momentarily freeing him from its grasp and he whimpered at the sensation.

  
**_A soft hand caressed his cheek, giving it a small, playful pinch. For a moment a sad look took residence on her face, as it often did when she thought he wouldn’t recognize it for what it was._ ** **_  
_****_  
_**He lifted his trembling hand to his face and felt no one. The warmth was gone, he was all alone.  
  
**_“Go to sleep.”_ **  
  
And so he did.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been staring at this story for months and now it's alive and I have to see it through so it stops torturing me. Please feel free to comment/review, I will respond to as many as I can! I'll do my best to update weekly, so be ready for another chapter soon~
> 
> Спокойной ночи, грязный маленький паук ---- Good night, filthy little spider.


End file.
